Page 90 of Crown of Olympus
Just a quick slash upwards and it was done.
The sea god did not flinch. He did not waver as the severed ends recoiled. They curled in on themselves before dissolving into nothingness. Leander exhaled, turned on his heel, and exited the chamber without a word.
He had made his choice. He had severed the fate woven for him, rescinded his definite future for one unseen. The question on all our tongues:what had he given up in the process?
Tychon panicked. He cast a single glance at the threads — then darted out right behind his ally.
Slowly, Aphrodite moved forward. She raised a hand upwards as Leander had done. We all listened, waiting for that telltale chord to sound. She advanced another few feet before we heard it — a high, sweet note — delicate and pure. Aphrodite froze, string held gently in her perfectly manicured fingers.
“Aph,” I whispered, stepping forward.
She flinched. Her cerulean eyes flicking to mine, sharp, uncertain, but only for a moment. Aphrodite turned back to her bright thread, every breath laced with hesitation.
“I know,” she breathed, barely audible over her elegant note still playing softly in the background. I could feel the heavystares of the other champions, watching to see what the goddess would do.
“Aphrodite…” I repeated softly.
My friend straightened, steeling herself. Her decision had been made. With a steadying breath, she extended a graceful, expectant hand toward Atropos. The Fate considered her for a moment, then inclined her weathered, sightless skull. With ceremony, she placed her enormous pair of silver, razor-sharp shears into Aphrodite’s waiting palm. Aph gripped the shears and snipped cleanly through her golden thread.
A gasp rang through the chamber, and it took me a heartbeat to realise it had come from me.
But Aphrodite was not done yet. She dropped the scissors to the dusty floor with a metallic clang. Atropos shrieked and rushed to scoop them back up, hissing at the goddess.
Aphrodite tightly grasped each end of her fraying cords. They strained desperately to coil and dissolve, eager to vanish as Leander’s had, but she refused to let them. Instead, she fiercely tugged and twisted, weaving them together anew.
When at last Aphrodite was finished, her fate was remade — rewoven, stronger than before.
She turned, smiling faintly, and withdrew from the chamber.
And then there were six.
To my other side, Caelus stood motionless, his expression indecipherable. He silently watched every decision unfurl with quiet stoicism. I couldn’t tell if he was waiting for a champion’s weakness to unravel, or if he, too, was paralysed by indecision.
Across the space, Aros shifted uneasily, his mouth pulled down at one corner. He lifted his right hand, only to drop it again. I nearly laughed. The ever-suave figure I’d come to know, rattled by a future he couldn’t even begin to guess at.
I must have made some small noise of amusement, becausehis amber eyes immediately locked onto mine. His narrowed. Mine danced with a grin.
Aros strode forward, boldly prowling towards me. In my periphery, Caelus jolted.
“Laugh if you must, darling. Furies know I long to hear it,” Aros said, pausing to scowl at the glowing threads. “But anyone who chooses to fuck with fate deserves the consequences it inevitably doles out.”
With that, he promptly pivoted and stomped out the door, leaving five stunned champions in his wake.
Athena moved next. She said nothing, made no gesture — just left without so much as a sound.
Four.
Apollo lingered, his brows furrowed as he contemplated the hand that fate had dealt him. In the end, he opted to leave his thread untouched. A rough sigh escaped him. The decision seemed to rest heavily on his shoulders. With slow, deliberate motions, he turned to the remaining competitors and spelled out a parting message:
Choose well.
His golden eyes lingered on mine. It felt personal — as if he already knew which choice would haunt me most. Then he left with the air of a god who had avoided fate’s web, leaving the rest of us tangled in it.
Three.
Archimedes marched forward next, fingertips raised. With grim determination he brushed his fingertips along the pulsing threads. A fragile, melancholy twang sounded as he sharply wrenched his fate down from the ceiling. With steady hands, he severed it quickly, absolved of doubt. As Aphrodite had done, Archimedes chose to rebind it — deftly weaving it into a thicker, more durable version of itself, twice the thickness it was before.
He tugged on it again, but this time a deep note hummedthrough the air, a much sturdier resonance than what had sounded seconds ago. Cautiously satisfied, he walked out, leaving the steady twang of his thread echoing behind him.
